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Four poems by Yĕ Yĕ

Updated: Apr 23




Yĕ Yĕ resides in Stroud, England. She is the co-founder of Poetry Lab Shanghai and has so far had two collections of bilingual poetry published. Some of her words can be found on Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, Alluvium and All Tomorrow's Poets 2023 among other places.




Untitled


the spring at the waist of march the plummeting

left resurrections bloom like missiles airtight lies 

are the carcass of a festival on the internet using

languages to pursue freedom from a lockdown in

the quietude only the black delight fast-pressing a

length snapped over and over again people shrink

into a lump of secrets faintly spilled across spring

til it fattens into a pail of seasons drowned to live



Guess No More


Silver edged guesses. 


They are talking like clouds 

lingering at the heart of the sunset, and 

have finally started asking the same questions. 


About leaving. 


You probably prefer going back to your home country then? 

Your mother should be rather pleased about your return? 

Oh aren't you happy now.


Like two wild rivers.


The hidden rhetoric runs like an exiled tear. 

Answers roam in the air, gradually sedimenting

into a pearl-less shell in which whatever you say sounds


like a lie. Oh the pressure in those questions. Feels

like something hardening before making a sudden leap. 

Out of all of us.


All we have left is blank stares. 

They glide across our empty chests, like 

an array of homeless swallows.


--------------------------------------------


Summer


Summer wades through you in the thick absence of cicadas.


Every shortened breath is an implosion of a lost thought. Or a fleeting desire of familiarity.


There’s no room for clear hiccups.


The crispness of scarce sounds festering in the lolling sun. & the sometimes rather ambitious mugginess.


But the sting never reaches your hollowed skin.


绿的舌尖 the hesitant heat.


Glances facing south. 不


断。


-----------------------------------------------------



Sight


Plop. (Yes I can 

still see and my eyes

are supposed to be swimming i

n the dark but...) The day

is stroked back 

into a blurred vision.

Longing for a structural

void. That scoops 

a squiggle out of

an elongated stare. 秋

分 is a square depleted

of unconditional love.

Howls like an

absent owl.







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